Saturday, April 14, 2012

Of Art and Passengers (A Subway Tale)

Flavors permeate the
nostrils through transmutational
remnants still wafting about the air

Diagonal, vertical,
slits form breaks
then
stops and
when ready
starts again
only. for these. pauses
to refresh newly formed

Every pang once felt
forgets its cause,
each pain you feel
salts away before the
peppered points of tear

after a gritty stairs descent
a newfound attachment
to ever-altering straits
of atmosphere appears,

is discovered, forgotten
and rediscovered once more

the comfort of warming
sensations resonate to
the gullet of an individual
existence

alone, this portrait of
warmth, is a cycle held
dear, for between both
hands, and through every
biting glance, a variance
of spice and pleasure
emanates within

passageways recall
those sacred memories
of long lost times and
even longer days,

where you're only care
was being clothed and dry,
swaddled full upon the
primitive satisfactions that
enrich each and every morsel
of woman and man

art forms in flashes, scrawled
upon supporting beams and
along the seams of darkened
apportioned tracts of tunneled
walls, where the only vision
beyond the flickering bulb that
sways to the trains fleeting feet

is that of the composer and the
architect, as withered fingers
paint away by these unnamed
scribes of the underground

and in these too fast to recall
moments of rapture,
both the observers, poised from
their catbird seat, to the artist,
swimming faster
than retinae can scan,
both arrive at such a place
where a new artistic movement
is revealed within

at each the platforms,
the faces alter form
and air expands, contracts,
from thick to thin,
from thin to thick

In the winter months
you may not care about
the close comforts of
strangers, processing and
surveying your every inch,
feeling out your very story,
as surmised from the touching
warmth of an impossibly captured
palette of voluminous shapes and
shades of skin

In the summer the space
is prayed upon, for it's
eagerness to cool, but

occasionally, perhaps we don't
mind as much,

for coverings
are vaguer than they are
other points of the year,
and the depths
below the concrete jungle
are cool in their subterranean
melody

and then the change falls
clink-clink-clink

the cards are punched
reminders of the day of
month, sometimes year

but the transaction is far from done,
the conductor's voice replays, repeating
under the covers entering the dreams
you carry within

I never cared much for subways or
people for that matter. I can't
say much has changed, but change
has occurred, this much I cannot deny

for once poetry caught me in it's net,
every experience and vision
seemed to come alive, each breathing
a song that only I can fully hear

and I never even discussed the conversations,
the ones that only I could hear,
the ones jumbled together, the
passages of sound and speech,
I patch to form
the ever-changing conduction
of symphonic sound

I never speak of those dear words,
for those transactions, are as sacred as
the nap-sacks and gold studded black
suitcases, white-knuckle clutched close
to traveling hand

Head on over to D'Verse tonight and check out their weekly Poetics feature, where Claudia has offered up this Subway inspired prompt. Come read what others have linked up and while you're there, as always, link your subway poem to share.

26 comments:

i am glad you used the word kaleidiscope fred because that is kinda what this was like, each new stanza a turn on the perspective...my fav verse is...

art forms in flashes, scrawledupon supporting beams andalong the seams of darkenedapportioned tracts of tunneledwalls, where the only visionbeyond the flickering bulb thatsways to the trains fleeting feet

Perfect! Perfect! Perfect! Love how you bring poetry into this, and the inspiration folks provide. I've never done the subway thing, and the thought of doing so makes me cringe. I like my space. Had to laugh at some of our similarities...very sensitive to scent and noise...but also sensitive to the poetry that's hidden just a layer below. LOVED this!

Thanks Tash This took me to my first ever subway ride - in Boston. It was so unreal and different for me. But it was as you say a sensuous experience with different worlds mingling - Hassidic Jews, MIT students, mixed in with girls from Smith and Radcliffe, black men reading poetry, Asian girls holding hands - what a portal to my first international city. It's as vivid as this afternoon!

Have never stepped foot on a subway, heck not even a train. Will do so next month most likely though. You sure brought it to life in every way, captured tons of detail. I dare say you might even give good old Gawker Brian a run for his money. Who knows you may have an eyeball popping out of your head soon too..hahaha

Pat, you're OCD would go nuts in some of the Subway systems- Forget about NYC, paris you'd love, cleanest subway system I've ever been in. Haha, I think Brian's money is safe in the bank-lol If I could catch his shadow that would be a huge deal. Thanks, eyeball popping like Friday 13 in 3D, one of the few horror movies I've actually seen, but I was young then, so I get a pass

nice..a lot to like here fred..love phrases like ..the trains fleeting feet...and...the conductor's voice replays, repeatingunder the covers entering the dreamsyou carry within... sums this up so perfectly as it has a very surreal feel to it...a journey in a journey in a journey...very cool

This is a great exploration of the world of the underground....compressed ethnicity...what a great way to describe it. Love all of the imagery, the graffiti (art) scrawled on the beams, the dropping of the changenis just excellent observation, and I like how you talk about the difference in the environment between summer and winter- in the winter you don't mind the warmth of people - in the summer- its a different story...really nice capture and a total nail of the prompt

Thanks Stu, what you mention here are the things I always noticed in the Subways. The graffiti, as a young age, I was always told was a blight and so forth, but then one day I said, "kinda like it" and in the subways you can't miss it and just must take it in, as much as you can. The people, well they are what makes it more than just a mode of transportation too. The seasons, well I have to admit I do feel that way, but I really put it in here as a chance to shift tone briefly. Thanks again, appreciate it.

Much as I hate subways and the crowds in them, I have to admit that is the perfect place to find material and ideas, and see some static art and "living art". It's when I started seeing them through such eyes that I began to appreciate their crowded madness a little more. Like this one very much, as it covers so much in meaningful detail.

This is really really awesome. I enjoyed your description of the subway and its psychic disturbance of our senses beyond measure. The dialog between necessity and poetry (it seems to me) is vital, and your awareness of individuality versus the crushing weight that might rob us of it is very critical for all to remember. The two parts of the poem coalesce quite well, and you transition from one to the other seamlessly. This is an excellent meditation on the bigger picture of that leveling process that modernity undertakes to squeeze out all soul and compress it preformed molds.

Amazing feedback Charles. Really glad you really enjoyed this one. Love how you caught the two parts here. Bigger picture of the leveling process that modernity undertakes to squeeze out all soul and compress it preformed molds- couldn't have said that better myself. Again, I'm really glad you enjoyed the piece. Thanks

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About Me

I'm a Poet/Screenwriter, amateur Philosopher and wannabe Artist interested in all things Literature and Language. I'm an avid reader, mainly non-fiction, reference, mythology and comics. I love wordplay, comedy and puzzles. I am constantly thinking and jotting ideas down for future exploration. I'm interested in all genres of music but Metal is what I love. Really enjoy Movies A-LOT and am a glutton for punishment, A.K.A life as a diehard Bills and Sabres fan.